And Back Again
by Heartspin
Summary: Bilbo Baggins had died. He had died and went to the wonderfully peaceful, ever perfect happy land that his people went to upon ending life. It had everything a hobbit could wish for; good food and cheer, song and dance, friends and nothing but endless good days. And Bilbo hated it. Good thing even in death, Bilbo was not your average Hobbit. A Bilbo goes back to fix everything.Yaoi
1. Chapter 1

**Heartspin:** _So yeah, I am starting yet another story . I was so close to finishing Wishing for Sunny Skies, and told myself i would wait to start another tale until that was finished, but I couldn't help myself. I started this out as a 1shot first, taking a scene from later on in the story to try and quell my desire to write it from the beginning, but it just couldn't work as a oneshot. So here it is. Sorry._

 _I have been wanting to write some ThilBo fanfics for a while now, and I am going to at least put this one out now-though I have 1 other floating around in me head that is an xover I will refrian from writing that._

 _Now addressing this, story; I have fallen in love with all sorts of Bagginsheild stories-I have read depressing ones and cherry ones, ones where Bilbo goes back in time, and ones where thorin or someone else does. I have read xovers, and alternate universes of all kinds._

 _Now I wish to spin my own story, and decided I first would tell a Bilbo goes back in time to fix-it story._

 _I will make no promises for this story but I will tell you one thing. I DO NOT wish to hear complaints that -this has been done before, its not original, thats so unbelievable etc etc. It ruffles my feathers when I could be a chapter or 2 into a story that is planned to be 50 chapters long and people believe they see the whole outcome-and even if they were right no one story is the same as the rest unless you are stealing someone else writing-which I would NEVER do as someone who loves to write._

 _Well without further delay here is the story! ENJOY!=)_

 **Chapter One**

Bilbo had in lived quite an amazing life for a hobbit if he did so say himself. It having been a somewhat normal and peaceful life in the Shire until a wondering wizard, who wondered off far too much if Bilbo recalled fondly with a tinge of annoyance, had gently-rather forcefully- invited a group of royal dwarves-royally a headache at the best of times more like-which had then in turn set him on a quest to face a fire breathing dragon to take back a mountain for said royal headaches.

It had been until later in life, much too late and after the heartache turned in to a dull throb with only the occasional sharp pain of loss reminding him of what he never would have.

His dwarves. His wonderful, stupid, loud and rowdy dwarves.

But then that ring, oh that cursed ring had ended up taking even more from him than he ever could imagine.

After living so many years, another sixty-far older than any other hobbit should mind you- he finally parted from the vile gold circlet, from its whispers and poisonous friendship. It had taken every bit of innocence he held, every bit of good, and tried its best to grab hold and twist it and break him. To force its will upon him. It wished him to leave Frodo, to not take up his duty as his guardian, to walk out and go-where he did no know. But he always refused it.

But then he had left the blasted thing for his nephew, not knowing the dangers it truly held! And about another 30 years later, his beloved Frodo had begun his quest to destroy the cursed thing.

Even after so long, it called to him-longed for him to take it back and never allow anyone else to touch it again. What right did that whelp have to take what was his after-all?

And Bilbo hated himself. Hated his moments of weakness. Old age was a poor excuse, as was holding on to the ring for so very long. It was the reason people gave him, but he refused to accept it.

It was his fault. He was weak.

It was his fault that yearly his nephews shoulder would begin to hurt more and more with the faint memory of the Narzguel blade burning into his shoulder.

It was his, Bilbo's, fault that those bright blue eyes-that had been so bright and curious and so very innocent- hollow and haunted.

Bilbo had been so relieved to see his nephew follow him onto the gray ships, to set sale to an undying land where all pain would wash away.

He himself had been happy for this adventure, though he accepted this as his last, and only looked back when they had set sail knowing that if he did before he would have wished to dart off the boat, onto a pony, and demand to be taken to the mountains. He squinted his aged eyes trying his best to spot Erabore in the hazy distance. But it was impossible.

And so Bilbo died.

He died unable to see the mountains that felt like home, and housed what had grown to be his family ever again. He died unable to apologize to Thorin and the boys.

Now Bilbo wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since his death. Death was a funny thing like that. There really seemed to be no time of day, no agenda. No passing. It just-was.

He stayed in a Smial, much like bag end, and did much as any hobbit was supposed to do. He would wake, go about gardening or eating, reading or taking small walks about the town of other dead hobbits-the town oddly enough resembled the shire- would converse, this was done lightly as for even most of his ancestors had little in common with him besides Bulroar Took(who perhaps played golf a bit too much for Bilbos tastes) and just go about doing mundane hobbitish like things.

It wasn't as if Bilbo wasn't thankful to what the good green lady had given them as a resting spot in death. The fields were always green, the crops always good, endless drink and dance and merry; never a bad day. It was the perfect afterlife.

Too perfect for Bilbo it seemed.

He at first had been elated to meet with his parents once again; to feel their warm embrace and to listen to their voices once again. It had been so welcoming to see those who had passed before himself, all the hobbits who had led up to his point in time.

It had been so nice, in the beginning of death, to feel the peace of bag-end once again, no dark ring hanging over him or echoes of dwarven song.

Even when he thought of his dwarves, it was as if his heart was unable to feel any sort of pain or remorse. The lonely Mountie only brought feelings of awe no loss or homesickness associated.

It sickened him. It was as if the feelings were fake. Forced into his heart as if it were mimicking happiness much like he acted when he sat down for tea at his great aunt Roses.

So he walked.

He walked and walked, among hay fields, corn fields, rolling hills and bubbling brooks and tiny forests. It was all so much like the Shire, all so much like the place that had been his place of birth and much of his life.

But it wasn't the Shire. It was like a poor attempt to mimic it.

And no matter how much Bilbo walked, no matter which way he went, he would always find his way back to BagEnd. It was as if there were no true path out of his new home, there were no dwarves or elves or even humans to go see. There were no uncharted lands, no mountains no forests no oceans. Just the shire.

Bilbo began to wonder if this truly was a punishment. To continue eternally being trapped in the one place he swore, in life, he called home. Swore where he belonged. Never to seek true adventure again, to see those he would like to call friend. To call family.

He felt nothing at the echo of Thorin's parting words, and he he knew he wanted to feel disappointed in himself at not even being able to morn the loss of such a dear friend, but that was not even allowed to him.

And so he continued to walk.

He walked and walked, and every time the Shire came into view he would turn around and begin walking away once again only to return to it no matter what he did.

Bilbo was unsure how long he had been doing this, refusing to meet with his parents any longer, or any hobbit for that matter just to hear them say-he would be fine, it just took some time getting used to, how could one not enjoy this life?- until one day, one glorious day.

There was change.

Bilbo had decided to take a break from walking, and was sitting in a small wood after having just turned from where he spied the smoke rising from others smials.

He, in life, would have brought a book and some seed cakes with him to sit under a tree and enjoy the day, but in death there was no true hunger to fulfill nor any tale worth enjoying. So he just sat, looking endlessly to where he wished to see mountains on the horizon, not rolling hills and crops.

"Does it pain you so?"

He jumped slightly, though no feeling of fear or even surprise was allowed to him. Only a pleasant feeling of welcoming which was unwanted, and made him despise death all the more.

There, under the shade of a tree half hidden and cloaked, was a figure.

"What?" his voice was so odd to his ears-when had been the last he spoke? It was rare when he did.

The figure gestured about, the cloak not giving away any features, though a deep blue ring was visible on one of his large fingers,"Does this pain you?"

"I," he blinked and hesitated,unsure," I do not feel pain."

"But you wish to?"

Shaking his head Bilbo said," Why would I wish to feel pain."

"Because this isn' true happiness. Because even when you wish to feel sad you are happy, or when you wished to be frightened you are calm. What do you feel now, little hobbit?"

Bilbo was about to say happy, or perhaps content, when he paused.

This was not happiness. Happiness was being made fun of by a group of rowdy, obscene dwarves. Happiness was what followed after living through something impossible, terribly frightening, only to see smiles and hear song from those who had pulled through with you.

"I feel nothing," his voice was oddly flat. Had he spoken like this in life?

The figure nodded, and for some reason Bilbo found he could not take his eyes off the ring that sat, large and gaudy but fittingly, on the stumpy fingers of the other.

"Would you, if given the chance do it all over again?"

Bilbo blinked owlishly, tilting his head to the side just slightly,"What do you mean?"

"Would you," the figure growled now approaching but Bilbo, unable to feel fear, did not budge from his spot and just allowed the other to come slightly nearer," go back to the living? To do what you had done once-but this time do. IT. RIGHT. Would you take on full responsibility of that ring, instead of shirking your duties to a mere child?!"

Bilbo so wished to be able to cry, to feel bad over the loss of Frodos innocence. But he was unable to.

It was an easy answer to such a question for him. It was as if it had been what he had been searching for.

"Yes."

He saw the figures stance change, and there was something about the atmosphere, the very feeling of the world around him changed.

"Good. Bilbo Baggins," the other approached, his ring glowing as he settled his hand on the top of Bilbo's curls,"I will give you a gift to help you along in this lifetime."

He felt the worlds slipping away from him, the loss of any sort of physical body and the only thing he was aware of was the hand, with the large blue ring, keeping him from completely being lost to the darkness he was now bathed in. But Bilbo smiled.

For as he felt himself tugged through the void, pulled off to some unknown abyss of darkness, he felt fear. True, gut wrenching, heart hammering, mind numbing fear.

And for that he was truly happy.

 **PAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAK**

Bilbo woke sweating, gasping as he shot up in bed almost falling to the floor.

He looked around shivering at the chill of his dark room. The fire had gone out. He had forgotten to throw a log in before flopping onto his bed.

Sighing he leaned forward pushing sweaty bangs from his forehead to cradle it in his hands.

"What a dream," his voice shook on the word 'dream'. As if it was a mere insult to the images that played over and over again in his head. A whole lifetime of images.

He had seen his parents die, due to an early winter much like the one they were starting to experience now. He had seen himself grow old, and see dwarves-actual real dwarves!- and elves! and many other wonderful and terrible things. He had seen war, pain and suffering and had seen his own death.

He shivered, the cold seeming past his quilts to his very bones. The feeling of mortality setting heavily on his heart.

Throwing off the comforter he went to go grab some snack from the pantry to calm his nerves.

"It is just a dream Bilbo Baggins," he said in a quite quivering voice, reminding himself his parents were just in the next room and his mother was an awful light sleeper," there will be no 'fell winter' or 'great war' over some ring," he huffed trying to bring that heavy, oh so heavy feeling, from his heart that spoke of grief and suffering," now go get you some tea and cake and quit concerning yourself over some silly nightmare. Its just a result of all those books dad keeps telling you to get your nose out of. Obviously for good reason too!"

Nodding his head and wiggling into his nightgown he went to the kitchen to rid of his tremors.

After all. It was just a dream. This was the Shire and he was just a hobbit.

Nothing bad ever happened here.

Nothing.

 **ENDENEDENDCHAPTERENEDCHAPTERENDCHAP;TER**

 **Heartspin:** _soooooooO...As my first Hobbit fanfic, and Thorin/Bilbo fic. . . What do you think?_

 _Please review and give me some feedback! Reviews keep me going! They keep me sane! They make me **UPDATE**! 0-0_

 _Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Hopefully I can spin a story that will be satisfactory for you all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Bilbo Baggins!" scolded his mother, fury written all over her features as she put away her fine china-a very generous wedding gift that she treasured.

She paused for a moment to turn to him, perhaps concerned about the well being of the delicate cups and plates, and he flinched under her stern gaze. "Just what got into you?" She was shaking with fury and Bilbo couldn't blame her. He himself didn't know exactly what had gotten into him. Thinking back he was unsure just how things could have spiraled down so fast.

The day had not started out normal at all, for he had woken very early to the strange dream that made him loose his appetite and his hands to shake.

His parents had woken around their normal times, his father bright and early with a since of duty about him while his mother followed not long after, a slightly more sluggish pace about her.

"Bilbo," he glanced up from where he had been staring into his now cold tea, fire just mere coals and his joints were stiff from having sat in one place so long. How long had he been sitting, thinking about the absurd dream? He had been so absorbed into his thoughts that he had even missed the rising of the sun, the darkness melding away into the dull grey of morning in their dining area.

"Oh-mom," he said slightly awkward as she frowned at him while his father rummaged around in his study down the hall. Ever since the poor harvest and early frost the Shire had been troubled about the difficulties of the coming winter. As such his father saw fit to catalog everything in their food stores and come up with meal plans for the food to last. Bilbo knew deep down it wouldn't. His mother quietly sat next to him and took the cup from his stiff hands, holding his hands in her own warm ones.

"What troubles you darling?"She had deep brown eyes that spoke of warmth and understanding and his heart throbbed painfully at the love he felt for her. She was a very caring and loving mother,unable to bare any other children she had poured all her love into Bilbo. Why he would dream of her death, one so terrible, he didn't know why. Opening his mouth he he felt his voice catch in his throat before snapping it closed and he tried to swallow down the knot in his throat.

"I had a terrible nightmare," he confessed thankful that Belladonna was a very patient hobbit. She pushed back some curls that plastered themselves to his forehead and he didn't even wave off the affections like most tweens would do. It felt as if he had went too long, far too long, feeling the love of his parents.

"About the winter love?" it wasn't as if the whole Shire wasn't whispering worriedly about the chill that had killed the last harvest, or the abnormal wind bringing down frost and a thin blanket of white before they had even truly had a fall. Hesitantly he nodded-as for in his dream he had watched the winter play out-the fell winter it had been called later in the horrible dream- as for he couldn't even begin to describe the extent of the dream. Of growing old and alone, so unusual for a Hobbit, and then being whisked away by her good friend Gandalf to go gallivanting with a group of insufferable dwarves, one of whom-

"Bilbo!" He blinked and looked up. Both of his parents were there, worry pinching their expressions as they stared at him. "Oh," he blinked again," I-I am sorry. I think I lost myself to my thoughts."

He hadn't realized until his mother once again wiped his brow how he had been sweating. And trembling. "Dear," she whispered," do not fear this winter. We are here for you." Bungo crouched down and settled a hand on his son's shoulder," Perhaps you should get some rest son. You seem unwell." Bilbo nodded numbly as he shakily got to his feet and quietly padded down the hall to his room. He tried to ignore that right when his door clicked shut he could hear the hushed voices of his parents down the hall.

"He's still a child," he heard his mothers muffled words, and for some reason that comment hurt him," this winter isn't going to be easy. I worry about Bilbo's health. Already Mrs. Ginger has said that she has seen more sick fauntlings within the past two weeks than she normally does in a whole winter."

"He is just concerned," came his fathers voice though it sounded unsure. A silence hung in the hall and Bilbo guiltily covered his ears while laying in his bed. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to push the images of his dreams from his head. Frodo. Did he have a second cousin named Frodo? No. In his dream it had been his cousin Drogo's son. And Drogo and Primula had gotten married?! No, that would never happen. He thought fondly about how Drogo would complain to him about the young Brandybuck as she would shadow him. Everywhere.

"She is outright annoying," he would complain to Bilbo," what is worse is that our mothers are friends and find it 'endearing'. She is so annoying, always wanting to do everything with me and my friends when she visits. I hate having to deal with her funny face with its big teeth and her messy hair." Drogo had always been one for being neat and tidy-like Bilbo's father and Uncle both were. Bilbo himself found life more comfortable and enjoyable when things were neat, tidy, and in order. His mother always told him it was in a Baggins's blood to be that way.

After seeing his mother return from an adventure with Gandalf, a bit scrapped and bruised, hair a wild mess-and wearing mens breeches to top it off!- he didn't doubt it. He had cleaned the mud from the carpet before she or his father could.

Rolling over from where he had been laying on his back Bilbo stared to the ceiling. He felt out of sorts, as if he had an energy vibrating within him and he just wanted to up and go running out of the Shire, much like he had in his dream.

He shivered remembering growing old and withered, weak and unable to care for himself anymore. "Its more like a memory than a dream," he whispered finding his voice horse. The dream had been so long, so detailed. His heart twisted from loss, he felt sick with a feeling of longing. A part of him wanted to find the dwarves in his dream.

"But that ring," he shivered, suddenly feeling very cold and empty,"I brought so much pain."

He thought of Frodo, and the innocent face that had soon become broken and hollow of emotion. Even though Frodo had returned from destroying the ring, it was as if he had died along the way. But there was no Frodo, again Bilbo flipped on the bed growling.

There were no dwarves, no ring, and no fell winter. Despite how much he told himself this, though, he couldn't convince his heart. Or block the images from his mind. Pushing his face into his pillow he yelled and kicked his feet. It was childish, as if he were a mere fauntling again, but it helped release some of that energy he felt needing released. He hadn't realized how much time had passed until a knock sounded off on his door.

It was soft, but fast and direct. It was his father. His mother always knocked loudly and without any real rhythm. "Come in," he said clearing his throat. His door cracked open and Bungo's round face and red cheeks pushed through as he blinked his brown eyes around the room until resting on Bilbo.

"Can we talk?" he asked straightening himself standing fully in the room and pulling at his bracers-a habit that Bilbo had as well. He nodded, and sat up fully as his father came to sit by him on his bed.

"Bilbo," his father started brushing some of his hair fondly,"sweetheart. You know that your mother and I love you very much." "Yes of course," his heart clinched painfully thinking about his dream. In his dream, love for Bilbo had not been enough for his father. It hadn't stopped him from dying and following his mother out of this world. His father smiled softly and pulled him close,"Please don't worry yourself about this winter so then." Bilbo blinked. His thoughts drifted back to the dream, so realistic it had been standing at the grave-site of his parents. It felt like there was much to worry about for the winter. Even if it were just a dream, the fear of the winters harm still clung to him. "I can not help it father," he spoke frankly and Bungo blinked. Bilbo was still a tween, and as such he was taken back by the diplomatic air his son suddenly portrayed," The last harvest wasn't even meager-it was none existent. Just how far will this winter go? Father, what if the river freezes over and wolves come into the shire?" He knew it sounded ridiculous-never in their history had there been such a winter. But for some reason, it had in Bilbo's dream.

A small chuckle came from the cherry hobbit and Bilbo felt anger course though him,"Bilbo dear why would you think such a silly thing. The river has never froze, and the Thain has already arranged for trade to be done with the men in Bree. It is not like they will not come to our aid-we have helped them with harvest many times in the past. It is unlikely they will not respond in kind."

Suddenly Bilbo found himself standing, shaking with barely contained rage.

"How can you laugh!"he shouted walking around his room huffing," it is very much a possibility. Never has snow came so early! Never have we lost a full last harvest! You act like you and mom couldn't possibly die from this!"

He spun around to see his fathers shocked face and the heat left his eyes. Bungo was not one for shouting or arguing. That was left to his wife.

"Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo flinched at his mothers stern tone," just 'what' are you yelling at your father for! Apologize this instant!" He avoided the heated gaze that held his mothers wrath, even if he felt as though he were brave enough to have survived encounters with goblins, wargs, trolls and a great many other things, his mother was still about the most frightening thing he believed he would ever encounter.

"I apologize for my outburst father,"he said looking to where his father was now standing wringing his hands in obvious worry. His father was good at worrying. Just not enough about this, Bilbo thought darkly.

His father and mother had left him to his thoughts then. Which was probably a greater torture than if they had put him to work, or grounded him. Bilbo paced the length of his room over and over again not able to get the dream from playing snippets of a would be life from his mind. "It's not real! It is not. real." he kept growling sure he looked mad.

Bilbo had finally managed to calm himself, skipping all meals until his mother called him to tea. "You have missed breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses and lunch.

Now come to tea, and have a small snack to hold you over the day. Starvation is not anyway to solve anything Bilbo!" his mother had scolded, but he could see the worry in her green eyes. He had nodded, and came out to see that , the local physician for fauntlings and tweens seated at the table with his parents, her thick sweaters making her seem even more portly than before, her graying hair swept up into a bun and kind blue eyes looking up at him upon his arrival.

"Bilbo dear, why look how big you are getting. I can not believe you are 20 already!"

Bilbo frowned and crossed his arms looking to the 3 seated," I am not ill."

"We are only concerned Bilbo," his mother reasoned.

"I appreciate the concern, but I am not unwell,"He scuffed his foot on the floor rudely, and gaped. He wasn't known for being rude, perhaps a bit rowdy but not unkind in anyway. He was frustrated, though, and he needed an outlet.

"Bilbo Baggins," His mother gasped," You are truly beginning to act quite unusual."

"Because you are not worried enough! This winter-"

"Is not for you to worry about," his father cut in sternly. It wasn't often his father would punish him, but when he did it had been always something Bilbo would remember and end up feeling guilty for long after it was over,"You seem to think your mother and I and the Shire are not preparing for the worst but-"

"You are not preparing enough!" he hissed, hot tears running down his cheeks," in my dream-"

"This is about your dream," looked to the Baggins elders with worry.

Bilbo silenced, suddenly realizing how silly he truly must have sounded.

"I know,"he croaked,"it sounds ridiculous. And it is. It is just a dream,"he took a shuddering breath,"but it was so real. So fucking real that I cannot ignore it!"

The three hobbits looked at him with wide round unblinking eyes. It was rare any hobbit cursed-ever. Only the most foul mouthed, Bree traveling would dare utter such obscenities but even then it was rare. Though after having dreamed of traveling with the most foul mouthed of dwarves, Bilbo found himself slightly desensitize. Though not enough to stop the hot blush from rising to his cheeks-even in his dreams had he himself ever uttered such obscene words?

"Go. To. Your. Room. Now." Belladonna was shaking with barely contained Tookish rage and Bilbo nodded before doing an about face doing just that as he heard his parents apologizing to Mrs. Ginger.

"It's alright dears,"he heard the old lady respond," He is obviously suffering from anxiety."

He slammed his door shut feeling very bad about having said such a thing in the presence of 2 women, one being his mother, and in-front of his father no less. How unhobbitish! How unBaggins like! It was entirly disrespectful, dream or no! He was over reacting. His heart sunk as did he onto his room floor until his mother called to him to come out an hour later.

And now he stood in the kitchen trying to come up with an appropriate apology for such unseemingly actions.

"I have acted out inappropriately,"he began trying to slow his heart," I apologize to the furthest extent that I know how. I have acted very disrespectful. I just. . . That dream. . .mom." The stiff polite form he had taken for his apology melded away as he looked to his mother heart in his eyes.

And he could see his mother herself soften at his gaze.

"Oh Bilbo,"she murmured and outstreached her hands," I promise you. No harm will come to you this winter. Your father and I wIll do all we can to prevent that."

He ran into her arms, tears in his eyes once again," What about you and dad," he sniffed," I would be so very upset if something were to happen to the either of you. I love you."

His mother sighed and squeezed him harder before separating a bit to look him in the eye.

"If anything ever happened to your father and I before our time, or even when it is our time and we leave you. You need to find something-someone- to live for," It was mentioned frequently. He was not extremely antisocial, all hobbits found the need to be near others somewhat, but he didn't have many close friends being a bit of an oddity.

Always wishing to see elves in the woods, spying on passing dwarves on their way to the blue mountains, begging Gandalf for more and more stories of adventures far after even the youngest more curious hobbits had tired of them.

Sniffing he couldn't stop himself," I just don't want to loose you. "Again was left unsaid. But he thought it anyway cursing himself by not being able to forget such a silly dream.

"Were not going anywhere Bilbo," his mother shushed him," It was just a dream."

He nodded.

"Promise me you will try your best to forget this dream-please Bilbo? No more skipping meals, no more outbursts?" his mother looked at him pleadingly.

He nodded.

"I will do my best," he murmured," It was just a dream. I will do my best to forget it." And even at his mothers bright smile Bilbo felt sick uttering those words.

 **ENDENDENDENDENDENDENDENDENDEND**

 **Heartspin:** Sooooo? Whaddya think? This chapter actually turned out quite a bit different than I originally planned, but I find myself pleased with it. As always please review! I love hearing feedback! =D


	3. Chapter 3

And Back Again

Chapter 3

It had been nearly a week since Bilbo had first woken from that terrible dream,and no matter how hard he tried he found that every night, and throughout the days he couldn't stop images of the dream coming back to him.

He felt ill, seeing grotesque images of a battle field full of dead in the normal corn fields, of his parents passed away while he stood at the spot in the garden that wasn't even there in his back yard where they were buried, of people he knew he had never met and most likely were not real but he couldn't convince his heart so.

But he did his best not to worry his mother and father. Every day since the dreams came, he woke for breakfast, and after second breakfast would put on a heavy coat and warm scarf and gloves before going for a walk.

This was the first day that the snow that had fallen the night before stayed on the ground past noon and he was relieved to see he wasn't the only hobbit to be concerned about it. Many were now gathering extra firewood for their hearths and adding to their food stores what they could. There still was no answer from Bree about food assistance, or anything to be sent by caravan, but Bilbo tried not to think on it negatively.

At the moment he sat on a hill, having patted down the snow to make it more comfortable and having already forgotten about the bite of chill on the end of his nose and tips of his fingers. He stared out to the east, knowing somewhere beyond the horizon lay Erebor. He had tried to find some text about the lonely mountain in the shire, but there was nothing much outside information about elves.

Why did he dream of such things? Of a ring, an evil horrendous ring, that caused so much pain and death. Of war and pain, of the elves leaving for the gray havens. Of he himself going with everyone from the fellowship eventually following? It was such a bizarre dream, he wished it made it easier to play off as unreal. But his heart twisted whenever he tried to convince himself it was not true. Even though he could not grasp how it could be possible, he couldn't completely let go of the idea that it was some type of forewarning of events to come.

In the distance he heard laughter that shook him from his thoughts and he sighed looking to the young flaunting giggling in the snow farther down in one of the fields. Would they starve? Would wolves eat them? His stomach clinched at the thought.

He continued to stair at them not actually processing the game they were playing, just seeing the young innocent faces red with chill and carefree.

Another young face entered his mind unwillingly. Frodos. Then more. Merry. Sam. Pippin. He clinched his eyes shut. There were ghosts in their gazes suddenly, a weight on all their shoulders. Frodos most of all.

It was wrong. So wrong. They deserved to live long, carefree lives-didn't they? Not be whisked away on a nearly impossible quest due to his mistakes. Pippin and Merry especially had been far too young for such a quest.

Feeling suddenly as if he could no longer stand sitting, he jerked up, forcing himself to turn from the children and block out their laughter. It made him queasy, the thought of what could happen in the coming months.

Running Bilbo ran into the treeline of the nearby wood almost running into an elm near the entrance he grabbed it and collapsed panting at its base. The laughter was in the distance, barely heard but it still haunted him.

How long would it be until the laughter stopped?

How long would it take to come back?

Bilbo steadied his breath and his gaze stopped on a fallen branch. He wasn't sure what it was about the large stick that stopped him, or made him go over and pick it up, but he did. He swung it a couple times before putting it back down to the ground finding it too heavy to swing properly.

Why was he even sitting around worried about this while doing nothing?

It wasn't very bagginslike to not find a solution to a problem.

And what he was about to propose was even farther from acting like a proper Baggins..

Spinning on his heel, a grin on his face, Bilbo made his way back to Bag-End an idea growing in his head.

If the Shire was truly going to fall to disaster this winter, why not be ready for it? His dreams may have just been that, but he was not willing to sit back and watch others suffer.

After all; he was a hobbit.

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"It is absurd Bilbo! Arming everyone in the Shire in preparation for wolves! Wolves rarely come to the Shire! And certainty not in the numbers you are predicting,"Bilbo frowned as his father continued to pick apart his idea over dinner," and that is why the ranger are here to help! They always take care of any problems such as wolves before they could harm us hobbits. You don't know what you are asking for. We are not warriors! There is no way a hobbit could fight off even one wolf!"

Bilbo pushed at his food a little, he noticed his mother had kept the meal rather small that evening, and sighed putting down his fork.

"Then I would like to request the coin to have my own weapon commissioned father. A sword as for I feel I would fair well with one," he tried to keep his voice even and any real heat from it. He knew that his father wished for him to display proper Baggins behaivor, and this was farthest from, but he couldn't bring himself to act very Bagginsish at the moment.

He wasn't sure after the dream he ever would.

Bungo sputtered and his kindly round face became pale while he seemed to eventually deflate. Softening his voice and leaning forward he put a hand to his sons," dear you are no fighter. You are a Baggins of Bag-End. I could not see you. . .wielding a weapon! Those stories your mother tells you are just that. Stories."

There was a sudden humph and Bungo looked to where his wife was staring at him pointedly her arms crossed.

"Well they are dear, he is a tween now. Far too old to be going off those wild tales," he tried to reason with his Tookish blooded wife.

Said Tookish blooded wife frowned deepened," Why my dear husband. And what of my adventures before we wed and had Bilbo? Were the travels I had with Gandalf just stories?"

Before he could answer she stood continuing as she went to stand behind Bilbo. Despite feeling slightly empowered by the dreams he had, and his mothers sudden support, Bilbo felt suddenly very awkward being between the two in what seemed to be an open argument. They didn't have many.

"And I personally think our Bilbo would look very dashing with a sword in hand,"she continued patting him on his shoulders and he forced himself not to look up from his suddenly very interesting plate as her voice became slightly wistful," possibly protecting a lass that he would later fall madly in love with!"

"Mom," he said in what he wished was a less whiny tone,"I'm 26!"

She giggled," that is when your father first gifted me our first courting flower."

"And the first of many for her to decline,"he heard his father grumbled a blush going over his cheeks and nose.

He could practically hear his mother roll her eyes at his father-it was always something to tease the poor about. 34 Courting attempts, and before the 35th could be dealt she had approached him with her own.

"What I am saying dear," she continued going over to her husband now to give him a kiss on his red cheek," is that this is not a bad thing! Bilbo has been far too shy and. . .unsocial with others his age for quite some time now. This could be a good way for him to make some closer friends outside of Hamfast. Who, by the way Bilbo, has been training under good old Holman Greenhand and has accepted his first job to tend to our gardens-So you may see more of him now that all his time will not be following around that sweet Bell."

Bilbo groaned as his mother spoke of the thing he hated being brought up at dinner.

"I'm just not interested in any girls right now," he groaned before looking up to her in hope," does this mean I can get a sword?"

"What-no!"Bungo looked shocked to his wife as she seemed to be actually considering the request,"Belladonna please! Can you imagine! A Baggins, someday to be head of Bag-End, wielding a sword!? What would the renters think? That he would raise the monthly coin by threat of his blade?"

"Why I would never-"

"It is just not very Bagginsish son, I am sorry but I must put my foot down," his father said matter of factly ," I-Its just not normal. Going around the shire-THE SHIRE- with a weapon of all things!"

Bilbo sputtered and looked between his two parents before standing," Well then. There it is. I understand very . Mother. I feel I must retire now," he said feeling anything but tired, but not wishing to argue this any longer. He was sure there would be a way for him to get a sword. He just had to find it.

"See here Bilbo," his father said in a pleading tone that had Bilbo pausing at the doorway," I am not tryin' to be your enemy on these matters. I know for the past few days you have been mighty stressed about this coming winter-and rightly so! But to blow things out of proportion, to think of arming yourself. . .son you already have so very few friends. At this rate I fear you shall become a recluse , with no wife or children, no one to morn your passing when your time comes. "

Bilbo allowed his face to lax and to squeeze his eyes shut since he knew his parents could only see his back. His fathers words brought back memories of the dream. Having returned from his year long journey dream Bilbo had found that nearly all of his precious possessions had been sold and there had not been one damp eye in the greeting crowd. Honestly it had seemed that no one truly cared for Bilbo past the extent of his belongings and he felt his heart break at the thought. In his dream he had returned to the Shire, heavy hearted, though not empty handed, and high hoping to receive some welcome along with a hot bath and warm bed. Though he received the latter, he never could quite reconcile the relationships with his neighbors. Even Hamfast, who had been tediously working to keep Bag-Ends garden pristine for its new owners.

"I do not find," he finally said, thoughts of dwarven friends going through his mind;friends who urged him to stay in the lonely mountain at least the winter through, who clasped hands and gave hugs and begged for future visits,"that there is truly anyone in the Shire I should find to my liking. None have truly struck my fancy,"and because he was feeling rebellious and his courage was not all used up he gripped the wall harder and added on.

"Not that I think I would fancy a dainty lass much."

His shoulders tensed at the silence behind him, knowing dropping such information on his parents shoulders, especially with everything going on, was a bit much. But in his dream it had never happened, and he had been oh-so confused growing up those late tween years without a mother and father.

"T-thats," his fathers voice was slightly faint. He knew such relationships were not spoke of in the Shire. Bilbo closed his eyes feeling hot tears build up. He had so hoped his parents would have magically accepted him.

"I think that's enough for tonight," his fathers voice was tight," were obviously all stressed out about everything that has been going on lately. Yes. Thats it. Right. Good. Well off to bed Bilbo. We cant be keepin you up."

His father continued to mumble as Bilbo scurried to bed darting through his door and throwing himself to his bed.

Bilbo didnt care if he made a tearful mess of himself, he sobbed into his pillow none the less. It must have been a slap to his mother and fathers faces-their only child someone whos tastes didnt quite run the way they should be. It left him offley confused in his dreams, but somehow between the intense dream and waking up with much time for thought the past few days he had come to terms with what he was.

A soft knock alerted him that his mother was at his door.

Sitting up he grabbed a handkerchief and rubbed his eyes and blew his nose,"come in."

She slipped in silent as any hobbit would, though she was holding a bundle in her arms that made Bilbo forget the pounding of his head and the weight in his heart.

"Sweetheart," she smiled at him and he smiled back shakily happy to see she wasn't completely distraught by his announcement earlier.

She came and sat down on the bed next to him, pulling another one of his precious hankies out to dab at his eyes," my dear Bilbo. Sometimes it is hard to remember how grown up you are. It sometimes feels like yesterday your father and I were wondering if we would even be able to give birth to a child."

Bilbo winced knowing that he had been an only not by choice. Most hobbit families easily had 6 or 7 children, one alone was truly odd.

"But," she continued pulling his attention back to her warm honey brown eyes," that is our mistake. And one that we should not make for it is you who suffers."

She passed the long object to him, it was wrapped in a black cloth and was heavy and long. Looking to her confused for only a moment, he carefully unwrapped it.

"Mom," he breathed blinking,"what?"

"If you feel the need to defend yourself, I do not have a sword to give you," she said smiling at him sadly and tucking a stray curl behind his ear," but this is one of the first bow-staffs I wielded while on journeys to Rivendell with Gandalf. And it may just look like a fancy walking stick, but I assure you it had came in handy in more than one skirmish I am sure you recall."

Bilbo now stood, the wrapping having fallen to the floor as he fingered the fine wood-it was strong and sturdy, completely smooth with very fine etchings put into it by his mother recording her greatest moments on her adventures.

It was one of her dearest things, the things left over from the days she used to go with Gandalf off into the blue, and she was gifting it to him!

Suddenly he paused turning to her to see her smiling up at him.

"Mother,"he hesitated before continuing,"I am extremely grateful; I know how precious this is to you. And I promise to take really good care of it. But. . . but mother. about earlier. . .about what I said"

"Your father and I accept you no matter what Bilbo," his mother stood looking at him sternly," Yes your father is unsure of how to acknowledge this. Give him time Bilbo, as for he has been raised to merely worry and think of things how they are meant to be in the eyes of the Shire. He has little knowledge of the world beyond, or of how matters of the heart truly work."

"Mom," he breathed collapsing into her hug a new wave of tears running down his cheeks.

"We love you very much Bilbo," she murmured," I am sorry that we are ot better at this parenting thing."

"Your perfect," he sniffed grabbing his handkerchief from his mother and dabbing his eyes and nose," you have no clue. Thank you mom thank you!"

Suddenly her smile was sly as she looked to her only son," Oh don't thank me yet Bilbo Baggins. I do wish to hear the lucky one who has stolen my sons eyes from from under my nose so silently. We can discuss it tomorrow," she said kissing him on the head and making the way to his door," when we go about training you to wield that properly. It is probably a better idea you start out with that than a sword. "

He nodded numbly realizing suddenly that his mother had just said she would be giving him bow-staff lessons,"well get some sleep dear, and clean up your face. And remember-if you have anything else you need to say. . . don't hold it in until it is too much to bare. Come to your father and I and we will work it out."

He nodded and she turned to leave but before she could make it out the door he called to her.

"Mom."

Turning she blinked,"yes dear?"

"I really do love you."

"I love you too," she smiled," I really do."

And she turned and closed the door.

Bilbo's heart twisted a bit and silently he promised himself. His mother would not be dying this winter. He was going to do all he could to prevent that.

The next morning Belladonna had taken Bilbo to their back yard, and proceeded to teach Bilbo proper footing and handling of the staff while she held her own-though hers had a very intimidating point to the end that was made of obsidian that she had obtained on one of her journeys- rare for even the places she had been she had said.

And that is how the next several days went, they would wake earlier than normal to practice some in their back yard, have a light breakfast-in which BIlbos father was almost always absent- and then Bilbo would go off on his own to train in the nearby wood or a field- never minding the giggles and jeers the other tweens would give. Then he would head home for a quite meal with his parents before collapsing in bed.

It was about a week later, when he was just becoming used to the strange weight of the staff and feeling slightly more comfortable with twirling it about when he had been washing the dishes after breakfast that he heard a knock on the front door. His father went to go answer it and Bilbo felt his hands slow in cleaning the dishes.

His father and the person at the door spoke in hushed tones so Bilbo was not able to understand them besides the fact they sounded grim. When the door closed it was his mothers voice that chimed up with question before Bilbo could even dry his hands.

"What did they say dear?"

"Bree will not help," his fathers voice sounded tired. Heavy," more flaunting are falling ill. And there is talk of a cold front coming. We are about to see some very dark times my dear."

There was silence before his father continued," I have to go see your father. Perhaps he and your brothers can held decide what is our best move now."

"Write him then,"began his mother.

"No," his father sounded the way he did when making his mind up during an important business matter," we are already so early in the season and many children are already ill. Not many messengers will be going back and forth, and I couldn't bare to request someone part from their family in these times. No I shall go, and go alone. It will be faster with just me, and I will perhaps bring back good news. Your father always seems able to make it appear out of no where."

"As well children," she laughed, though it sounded strained. Bilbo knew his mother did not wish for Bungo to leave, but was't going to argue it so mentioning her 11 siblings was an easy deterrent.

Bungo laughed lightly and agreed before saying he should hurry to set off as soon as possible. Bilbo quickly toweled his hands off scurrying down the hall.

"I can come too father!"

"No Bilbo I need you here,"Bungo shook his head.

"But I can help."

Bungo chose his walking stick and a warm coat as his mother silently packed him travel food and blankets," Bilbo. Please listen to me. I need someone to watch over Bag-End."

Bilbo blinked suddenly surprised.

"You are to be the future master of Bag-End. I am unsure how long this trip will take me, it may be longer than normal. This will be good for you to understand the feel of being the head of this household," his father nodded matter of factual and Bilbo found himself swelling with pride.

And all too soon his father was sharing kisses with his mother and whisking out the door leaving Bilbo torn between wanting to run to him and wanting to make him proud by doing what a Baggins of Bag-End should do.

As he made his way back to do the cleaning he found himself slow down, and the world around him seemed to dull in color. He became light headed and had to lean against the wall for support.

Suddenly the scene that had just transpired between him and his father played before his eyes, though just slightly different.

He could see his father and him conversing, much as they had done just moments before though perhaps Bilbo taking on his responsibility of acting head of Bag-End to heart more firmly, no fear in his eyes of wolves or starvation.

And he realized.

In his dream the same thing had happened.

Nearly the exact same thing-word for word. As if it were not a dream at all but a premonition.

Bilbo fainted.

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So I didn't realize when I first uploaded this that the format got all wacky and half the story was cut off! Sorry about that! Here is the corrected chapter!


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